Wham, bam, thank you Cam

The second Saturday of each month I take part in The Swimmer - a swim-run adventure from Hampstead ponds to Brockwell lido via Parliament Hill lido and the Serpentine (see also my first post for a lite version of the above). Last Saturday saw a slight change to the usual billing with a school trip to Cambridge, for which the Brockwell Icicles fielded a six-strong team of Sara, Liz, Nolene and me for the girls, and Peter and Marcus for the boys (David was still recovering from the trauma of Windsor the week before). With malt loaf and lashings of ginger beer <slaps thigh enthusiastically> we lined up in twos and made our way to Kings Cross to catch the 8h45 train.

Brockwell Icicles Sara and Liz

Markus bossing the Kings X area

Arriving in Cambridge, we were greeted by Will and Jonathan, the masterminds behind the Swimmer, as well as various other familiar faces from previous Swimmer instalments, 'our man in Cambridge' Simon, and Bryn - our wonderful support team for the day, complete with bicycle cart for transporting our things (cue gleeful stow-away attempt by Sara):

Taxi to go

 
(Picture courtesy of Peter 'fast as a cheetah' Springett, as are some of the ones below - cheers Peter!)

A brief jog through the town brought us to our first stop - Jesus Green lido: a 1920s classic, 100 yards long like Tooting bec but only 15 yards wide, apparently to mimic the nearby river:

Looks inviting don't it? Unfort it wouldn't open for another half an hour. Bother. So we opted to head for our next stop (the river!) and return here later.

The next leg took us along the 'Backs', the scenic stretch of the Cam where the colleges meet the river. Very nice, very nice indeed.

From Kings X to Kings College

Gaggles versus goggles

Through some small side streets and a track leading to a field, we passed through an unobtrusive wooden door into a quiet, shady area with a distinct 'secret garden' air. Yes, here we were at the Grantchester Swimming Club which, we were informed in hushed tones, is of the nudist variety. <Gasp>

Emerging through the trees to the riverside, you come upon a little grassy area neatly divided into two and enclosed by low hedges, and served by a shed that was evidently the swim club GHQ. At this time there didn't seem to be anyone around, clothed or otherwise, and we got on with donning our prudish, unenlightened swimming togs. We the girls were even able to commandeer a secluded area screened by conveniently arranged trees and bushes. Quite a step up from changing behind a tree at the Serpentine in full view of all of Hyde Park bar the narrow strip on the other side of the tree.

Convening with the boys by the wooden steps down to the water, we discovered Markus had jumped the green light and taken the plunge already, and was now enacting the Stevie Smith poem 'Not waving but drowning'.

With everyone now assembled it was time for a diving set piece. Here we have Sara stealing the show with a 9.5/10 performance, together with some more contemporary interpretations from Liz and Nolene:

Didn't film my own dive obvi, but here's a still courtesy of Peter:

Looks quite convincing I'd say. Didn't know I had it in me.

So here we all are in the beautiful water, a refreshing 13-14 degrees, surrounded by lush greenery, tree fronds trailing the surface of the water, coots ambling along - and of course the obligatory punts and kayaks.

We set off for a brief paddle downstream and, ever on the lookout for a new thrill, Sara soon hit upon the brilliant idea of climbing the invitingly low branches of a nearby tree. Before long everyone was shinnying up it like a troupe of drunken monkeys:

Did you spot Will whipping his camera out of his trunks for the final jump?

Further on the river narrowed slightly and the canopy came in closer, making for some enchanting swimming. We were even treated to the dazzling blue flash of a kingfisher skimming the surface.

Back to the swimming club (against my nemesis, the current), for a quick change into swimming costume #2 (avoid getting into wet cozzie at all costs), before a short run along the river to our next destination...

Me and Sara burning up the miles in Grantchester Meadow

Nolene and Will (in matching outfits?!)

And what a destination - the quintessentially English Grantchester Tea Rooms, set in a beautiful apple orchard scattered with green deck chairs. Following in the footsteps of such intelligentsia as Virginia Woolf, John Maynard Keynes and other lights of the Bloomsbury Group, we wasted no time in procuring a pot of tea and giant scone to fortify the sinews for the Long Swim to come.

Dusting crumbs from our chops, we made our way to our next changing room - to whit, the tearoom carpark, something of a step down from the tree-lined glade of before. Feeling just a little ridiculous as we crossed a cricket pitch in our togs and trainers, we headed down to the river to swim the mile back (downstream - yes!!) to the swim club.

As a 'scenic' (read 'slow') swimmer I was one of the first to plop in (squelchy riverbed, not unpleasant) and settled into a steady breast-stroke with Liz at the head of the pack. Here we had the advantage of a clear river ahead, with option of occasional backward sculling for reassuring sight of the rest of the team. Being at the front also meant we were the first to encounter oncoming punts, kayakers and walkers on the tow-path, whose reaction ranged from amusement to sheer astonishment. I even received an invitation to join a picnic party for lunch (which I politely declined).

At one point I encountered a swan, regarding me with a gimlet eye. Anxious he was going to give me the good cob bad cob treatment, I hunkered down in the water so that only my snout broke the surface, like an otter, and advanced as silently as I could. This tactic seemed to do the trick and he let me pass unscathed.

The river had a fair few twists and turns, so that every bend rounded revealed new scenery - sometimes with trees and bushes coming in close, at others with Grantchester Meadow clearly stretching away on the left. The joy of a long, uninterrupted swim in the heart of such beautiful nature and in the company of those in similar ecstasies is hard to convey in a blog, so I'll just say it was WONDERFUL.

As an antidote to such gushings, the cold started to set in for the last 10 mins to the extent that I started to shiver in the water (a new and faintly alarming experience). I'd settled into a comfortable front crawl rhythm early on and now set myself to swimming as fast as I could to avoid the indignity of hypothermia.

As soon as I spied the welcome wooden steps of the swim club I zoomed up and exited as though bitten by a pike. By now the regular (read 'naked') swimmers had arrived and were sitting around convivially drinking red wine from glass tumblers in the further section of the hedged in area, and gave us a friendly wave and hello. We opted for smiles aimed in their general direction and a sudden keen interst in the sky. I won't judge as that will clearly be me in 30 years.What's more, when they noticed my rather violent shivers (which for the record is a legitimate way to get warm) a tanned and toothy face appeared over the hedge asking "Do you need tea?" A godsend! This kind old man then took me to the swimmers' shed (having sympathetically donned a long jumper, and perhaps even undergarments - I didn't investigate) and got the gas stove going. While I warmed my hands over the kettle he even went so far as to make the powdered milk into a paste with water in a separate cup ("stops it clumping") before leaving me to it. I made three cups which we shared among us - apparently most had found the last 10 mins a bit of a challenge - and were soon restored to our former normothermic glory.

With the train station close at hand and all of us rather pooped from the long swim, we reached a unanimous decision to leave Jesus Green lido to another day, and Sara, Nolene and I even managed to sneak a lift in Bryn's car:

A common sighting

Well, it wouldn't be a true Brockwell outing without a taxi now would it?

Dove-tailing with the runners at the station, we reluctantly gave up Bryn and his comfy car and piled onto the train, doing our best not to disturb the sombre hush in the carriage.

Tickets please

We Cam, we saw, we swam.

Swimming Windsor the Brockwell way

Saturday 2nd June dawned bright and clear, and about 45 minutes later my alarm clock went off at the ungodly hour of 5am. For yes indeed, the day had arrived for me and fellow Brockwell Icicles Sara and David to take on a swim in the Thames in Windsor, organized by Human Race.

Our support team for the day was David's unspeakably accommodating partner, Aidan, who not only drove us there and back but proved a real boon in kit carrying and generally aidin' as needed. We arrived in good time and headed straight for the little cafe kiosk by the river, installing ourselves in a prime spot to survey the terrain, scare David with talk of river monsters, and generally succumb to race nerves.

Sara the river monster

Fear of the above

Plain ol' race nerves for me

And for a different perspective, here's David's take on proceedings thus far:

Not altogether sure if I'm guest blogging or blagging but who cares it's a day for firsts or thirsts more like. So the Windsor swim what an adventure from start to finish the car journey the giggling girls, reminiscent of the giggling you hear through the changing room walls, but this time you could hear what they were saying. Fear not lads we have nothing to fear. The boot dully packed with swimming togs, cans of coke and best of all rhubarb and custard cake. Arrived with loads of time to spare which meant we could have a good olde English cup of splosh to fortify us before the plunge, looking back now we should of had something far far stronger and probably illegal.

There were three racing distances on offer: 750m, 1.5km and 3km. David and Sara had wisely opted for the 750 given they were going sans wetsuit, and were the first wave to go off. So after a quick change we headed down to the start line as the arednaline started to flow...

The race route followed a loop for all three distances - first upstream (yes upstream) then back downstream, with a larger loop for 1.5km and two large loops for 3 km. This whole upstream motif was a new one on me, but I assumed it must be a gentle -surely even negligible- current, right? Wrong! As soon as David and Sara entered the water I knew things were going to be tricky:

Whereas Sara managed to settle into a front crawl rhythm and make some headway, David's breastroke was unfortunately getting him nowhere fast:

At this point I nipped off to change and drop off my bag, returning 10 minutes later to find David more or less where I left him, and being towed by a kayak to the river taxi - I mean safety boat.

Taxi to go

David says:

So to the race 750 felt so much more do able and without wetsuits Sara and I looked like we were unstoppable, I of course was stoppable. Huddle like lemmings by the side everyone plopped in on command and then we were off, well the masses were off. Current no one warned us about the strength of it. For me it was like being on a treadmill going nowhere, I thought I would swim down taking in the sights, wildlife and the castle were just distant memory's as I splashed around wondering if I was ever going to move forward. And then out of the corner of my eye I spied kayaks seemed like the perfect floaty thing to hold onto so I splashed my way toward it and grabbed on. Perfect opportunity to catch my breath and convince myself that I could carry on, and on I went until I spied another Kayak. I have to say Sara the star that she is was nowhere to be seen, off in her stride of river swimming. By this time any fear I may of had about river monsters was replaced by the real fear of drowning,I'd had enough nothing for it but to call a river taxi. Splash splash splash to the nearest kayak and then it was an easy ask, and lets face it I've got form the Swimmer springs to mind. Dragged into the motorised launch by my arms I thought they were going to come out of their sockets but what a relief. I think they were more concerned about me being cold seeing as I didn't have a wet suit but we all know 13c ain't cold. So there you have it the Windsor River swim lite the Brockwell way, oh and I even blagged a medal.

 

For my part I was just relieved to find him smiling on land and bearing no ill will against me for having started this whole hairbrained plan.



My penance was in the offing though as I took my place to join the women's 3k wave. While this might make me sound experienced and athletic, optimistic and deluded might be more accurate. I'm not a particularly fast swimmer and have quite puny arms, but will happily plod along with a fairly efficient (efishient?) front crawl. At the lido I usually start with a few laps of breast-stroke to get my breathing nice and settled, but something told me this might not be an option today.

Frankly, the start was hell! Battling amongst a seething mass of arms and legs, I took on board several quarts of murky, slightly crunchy water within minutes.

The current was even stronger that I'd feared, keeping me at a snail's pace and allowing no opportunity for a quick rest and look about for fear of retuning to the startline. It was a bit like turning up to a running race and being told the first half would be up a down escalator. Fortunately I was buoyed up by my trusty wetsuit, Betty, or I think I might have been a gonner.

Eventually I found my rhythm and even quite enjoyed some bits, but what a slog - could have sworn we were swimming uphill. Breathing became a lesson in demoralization because you'd keep looking up to see the same damn spot on the rivebank, mocking you as only a bit of earthy grass can. And I even got a bonus kick in the teeth from a fellow swimmer at the turning point, but at least I had a gloriously fast downstream stretch to console myself with now.

Zoom zoom zoom and before I knew it I was at the end of the 1.5km lap, ready to throw in the metaphorical towel in favour of a real one. Following David's excellent example, I hailed down a kayak for a cheeky lift to the exit, although as you will see the kayaker is clearly having a joke on me and making me push him along. Listen carefully and you'll hear David calling 'taxi' from the riverbank.

At last, the end was nigh and I could almost taste the rhubarb cake already. With Sara to cheer me on I dragged my sorry carcass across the finishing line. My expression at the end here sums it up nicely:

At least the medal is pretty cool - it has a funny shape and everything. Just time for cake and coke (the latter to kill off any nasty tummy bugs) before beetling back to our respective homesteads.

Big ears

Doing the okey cokey

We may not have swum far, we may not have swum fast, but by jove do we know how to hail a taxi - it's the Brockwell way.